


Ethereal

by corvidae9



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Other, creepy ghost obsession, erm… I dunno… Is it still necrophilia when there’s not really a body to violate? :D, nick is not ok, none of this is ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-05-17
Updated: 2004-05-17
Packaged: 2018-10-17 14:44:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10596159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corvidae9/pseuds/corvidae9
Summary: The only person who loves Percy for who and what he is has been dead for five hundred years.Hilarity ensues.Unsettling events ensue.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://fluffyllama.livejournal.com/profile)[fluffyllama](http://fluffyllama.livejournal.com/) in the [](http://icarusancalion.livejournal.com/profile)[icarusancalion](http://icarusancalion.livejournal.com/)/[](http://weasleyworship.livejournal.com/profile)[weasleyworship](http://weasleyworship.livejournal.com/) Percy fication. This was also a lot funnier in my head until weird, stalkery things started to happen and it became clear that Nick is not doing anything that's remotely OK.
> 
> Ever-so-slightly AU-ish; just a little plot hole that wouldn’t cooperate, though I fed it any bunny that came near. Will explain further at the end, in case anyone still needs it by then. Man, and I thought this one was going to be easy to write (spoiler: it wasn't).

Percy’s nose dipped ever closer to the heavy book he had been attempting vainly to read through a cloud of nasal congestion; his utterly organized mind was clouded with healing potions and teas and tenacious mucus. His mother’s admonition to get some sleep was edged out by his drive to do justice to the title of Head Boy, striving to earn more NEWTs than anyone thought possible. All of Percy’s successes had come from hard work, intensive study; buckling down in a house or a dorm room full of chaos and noise; yes, he could excel, but it had never come easily to him.

Honestly, he despised people like Hermione while secretly envying them all the same—they for whom hard work came easily; absorbing knowledge as if it were water. He had worked tirelessly for every bit of information in his head—she merely read it and took a color-coded note that she wouldn’t need to read anyway.

A light metallic skittering sound made Percy realize that his glasses had fallen off of his face and onto the worn desktop, probably due to the fact that his face was now crushed against the book, tendrils of snot pooling on the aged page. He tried to spring up, embarassed though there were no witnesses, but the pressure behind his eyes was far too intense, and he had to straighten gradually to avoid an increase in dizziness.

He had visited Madame Pomfrey earlier in the week for a dose of Pepperup Potion, but was told that she had run out. Apparently, this damnable cold had spread to a majority of the student body. All the Potions classes from second years up were dedicating the remainder of the week to revising… particularly the chapter on Pepperup Potion, specifically to restock her supplies.

In the meantime, Percy had vowed to go about his business, as if denying he was sick had or would ever keep him from feeling ill.

A whisper of warm-cool air caressed his forehead and a gentle voice whispered in his ear, “ _a hot bath might help_ ”.

A small, tired smile crossed his face as the voice surfaced. It was unnecessary to even glance at the clock to know it was midnight. His long-dead companion of nearly seven years took the witching hour very seriously.

Struggling towards his bed, Percy whispered, “Not tonight, love. I’m afraid I’d collapse halfway there.”

A fine vapor mist coalesced around him, as if a strong arm had taken on some of his weight, making the insurmountable distance across his small room that much easier. As he reached the bed, the duvet pulled itself back to expose the invitingly warm flannel sheets. Percy did not so much climb in as roll onto the bed, staying conscious just long enough to smile and murmur, “Thank you”.

Quite worried, an incorporeal entity created a brow to furrow as it settled into/onto/around the bed next to the loudly snoring, red-haired boy he loved so well.

###

_Percy had always been mummy’s big boy, although at the ripe old age of eleven, he would have died from embarrassment if anyone here on Platform 9 ¾ heard his mum utter the words. Afraid to leave home, he’d clung to his mum like a small child for the first time in years the whole way to King’s Cross, but had stepped out of the car as if he owned the world. He’d kissed his mum and dad goodbye and bravely boarded the train, where he was immediately shoved into a wall by a larger boy with dark hair and bad teeth. Fortunately his brother had not gone far ahead and came to his rescue when he heard the commotion. Charlie had taken care of the boy with bad teeth—he’d always been the athletic one._

_That night in a dorm full of firsties, he had lain quietly curled on his side behind the heavy red and gold draperies. He tried not to listen to someone else sniffling and biting back homesick tears for fear of giving in to his own urge to cry, but tears glistened all the same on his pale, freckled cheeks. He wiped his face with the sleeve of Bill’s old pajamas and curled into a tighter ball, his vivid family trademark hair a bright shock against the white pillow sham._

_Nicholas floated high above his bed admiring the pretty lump of contradictions, this grown-up little boy, and decided to take him under his wing, so to speak. He would start slowly at first—he was only a boy after all—and then see where the future would lead. After all, he had nothing but time…_  
  
###

At two AM-ish, Percy rolled to his back and was then forced to sit up and expel a giant, frighteningly colored mass of goo from his throat, scared for a moment he would never be able to breathe again.

Nicholas held his breath, so to speak, until Percy was able to in fact breathe again. It was wrong, he knew, wrong indeed, to hope for it… but such a thing had never stopped hope.

###  
__  
At the start of his second week at Hogwarts, Percy found another apple on his nightstand; his bedcovers turned back for him when he came up for bed. He’d thought it was just the house elves, until the prickling of the hairs on the back of his neck caused him to turn suddenly and come face to face with… what?

_A swirling mist, a pulsating cloud of purplish, sky-blue-greens in a vaguely person-like shape; a warm center radiating friendship; kindness. Percy should have been concerned, but this was the first thing not related to him or a member of the faculty that had been nice to him. He smiled and held his hand out to it. A thin tendril of something snaked it way around his hand. A ghost then - he'd read all about them in Hogwarts, A History._

_“I’m Percy. Percy Weasley.”_

_“I know. I’m very glad to make your acquaintance. Officially, that is.” He paused, not wanting to reveal his identity quite yet. “I’m… I’m someone who thought you could use a friend. Could you?”_

_Percy had no idea what came over him, or why his seldom-seen smile chose now to surface. He normally had no use for friends; there was too much sharing, too much babysitting involved._

_“Yes. That would be excellent.”_  
  
###

Percy hung his head trying again to clear his sinuses. He couldn’t remember a time when he was more miserably ill; he wished fervently he was at home, so that his mum could pet and cosset and fuss over him. Reaching over to the nightstand for another tissue, his arm passed through what seemed like an invisible sinkhole of chilly heat.

"You stayed."

"You needed someone to look after you."

Percy nodded slightly and curled into the thickened air, tissue clamped firmly in hand. Disembodied hands kneaded his aching shoulders softly and he dozed off again.

###  
__  
Towards the end of Percy's first year, he was studying for exams late into the night in the Gryffindor common room, keeping company only with a handful of fifth and seventh year students. The pages of his book suddenly began to fly about and he scrambled to keep his notes under control. He hissed under his breath, "Leave it! I'm trying to study here!"

_A message in old-fashioned handwriting appeared on the topmost sheet of notes: _You need to sleep. You are too young to worry as you do.__

_"Easy for you to say. You're not the one facing exams in two weeks!"_

_Another message appeared below the last: _Last warning, young one. Sleep.__

_"Or you'll what?"_

_Percy's ancient inkwell spun like a top and spilled directly onto his lap. He stood immediately to try in a futile effort to avoid the mess, but a dark splotch of ink was already creeping through his robes._

_Arms slapping down to his sides, he sighed quietly, "Fine. Thanks. You win. EVANESCO."_

_A few fifth years looked up, briefly impressed with his precocious spellcasting. No one was incredibly surprised, as Everyone knew about Charlie's brother, the brain... little oddball that he was._  
  
###

Once again, Percy woke, this time overcome with a coughing fit that turned his face slightly purplish with effort. Nicholas watched him carefully, and attempted it again.

"A hot bath really would help, you know. I could help you down, if you wanted me to. You know that one of the taps has been retrofitted to spout mentholatum steam..."

Too tired of being sick to argue with a source of potential relief, Percy stood and donned his dressing gown. "Alright. but it had better help." He ran his hand through his hair and grimaced. Robin had never led him astray before, and it wasn't as if he was resting soundly to begin with, so there really was no point in arguing. He began shuffling to the door and found that he was again being supported partially, and was able to move a little more quickly than he expected.

###  
__  
Sitting in his four-poster bed charmed for silence in the second-year dormitory, Percy hugged knobby knees that were drawn up to his chest. "Alright, you. This is the start of our second year of close association, would you please at least tell me who you are?"

_Nicholas hung invisibly just above Percy's head, admiring the changes the summer had seemingly wrought in his new pet, knowing he could not answer the question yet. He writhed into a knotty mass, apparently a ghostly equivalent of chewing his lip, and settled at the foot of the bed._

_"No. You know that I'm not supposed to play favorites."_

_Percy set his jaw, angry that his only true school friend remained "you". "Well, does it please you to be addressed as "Hey, YOU!"_

_Nicholas admitted to himself, he did not. It violated his sense of propriety, his genteel upbringing. He struggled for a moment before answering._

_"Call me Robin. I'll answer to that and gladly."_

_Twisting his own lip, Percy nodded. "Fine. But you'll tell me the truth one day, right?"_

_Nicholas smiled fondly. "Of course. After your Leaving Feast, I'll tell you. I'll even cook up a suitable appearance to go along with it."_  
  
###

Percy shoved the door of the Prefect's Bath open, walked in and locked it behind him. As sat on the bench to undress, the tap came on unbidden. He removed and neatly folded his clothing, making sure everything was in order before finally placing his underwear on the pile. A soothing steam was rising off of the slightly frothy water, and he began to immediately feel better. The thought occurred to him that he was not alone; that the nature of his relationship with Robin was such that it would not be allowed at Hogwarts if Robin was still alive; but there was no point in debating that now. This was his reality--as strange as it might seem to an outsider, and it enriched his life, gave him happiness and relaxation. He reasoned that this could not be harmful, and he embraced the secrecy of it all as second nature.

After all, there was no explicit rule surrounding intimacy with ghosts. He had made sure of that.

The pulsating mass of vapor mist threaded in and out of the rising steam and turned darker colors, a sure sign to Percy that his companion was interested, excited; the intensity of the swirling colors gave it away entirely too easily.

"Honestly, could you be any more obvious?"

A miniature wave of water splashed up and caught Percy full in the face. He chuckled, which immediately became a hoarse cough, and he felt his weight supported again as he was ushered bodily forth down the steps of the great tub. Obvious limbs formed out of the mist and caressed his skin lightly, innocently and otherwise. Percy sucked a sharp breath in between his teeth.

"Robin, I'm supposed to be resting and recovering. I'm not sure that could be classified as therapeutic."

“Really? And I thought I was doing a rather smashing job of making you forget your troubles. Shall I stop?"

"I expressly forbid it."

###  
__  
It was so easy for Nicholas to convince Percy he was his best friend. Really his only friend. So easy to shape his tastes, it should have disturbed his moral compass... his once unerring sense of right and wrong.

_But really, it was easy to justify. It was wrong that he, Nicholas, had been cut down in the prime of his youth. It was wrong that he wandered the drafty castle alone, without human warmth and companionship._

_And young Percy was far too right too often._  
  
###

Percy pushed himself further back against the warm tiles and closed his eyes, drowning in the mixed sensation of the hot water lapping gently against his chest, and the overtly sensual caress of the water in combination with something just barely more substantial. The pressure increased and descreased, folded and unfolded; writhed and twisted around and through him and he realized he was making some guttural sound through his clenched teeth. Familiar tension built and spiralled and crashed through him, and he collapsed boneless in a heap onto the topmost step of the tub.

He sinuses were in fact, far more clear, although his chest was still tight, packed full of stuff and goo of which only time could relieve him.

###  
__  
Fourteen-year-old Percy laid under the duvet as far as he could hide, hand twitching and burning, straining towards his too-short pajama bottoms. He was usually grateful to never have been alone in this bed before, but tonight he was heartily sorry for his constant companion.

_"Percy, love, just do what gives you comfort."_

_"Love"? Since when was he "love"? He fought hard to remember when their strange relations had changed shape, when the gentle care and friendship had become something more, but like the edges of his nighttime reality and the being that inhabited it, the certainties of time and space and dates had faded neatly into a single shape of being... much like the being responsible._

_There was no label needed; Percy knew full well what he was doing; and as long as this remained his only avenue of release, then he would not question it further. His hand moved of its own volition at first, but was soon guided in the arts of pleasure by one long past the exact sensation, and he was glad for it. He eventually drew blood from biting his own lip, leaving his dormmates wondering in the morning if he'd possibly stumbled in the dark or been roughed up by an older boy. No one actually inquired after his well-being._  
  
###

Percy became aware of his own ragged breathing and the cooling water, and struggled to straighten, only to find that he seemed weighted. The hot tap came back on and he was overcome with the scent of fading mentholatum and fresh roses.

He flailed weakly against the invisible weight holding him beneath the water. He could barely make out the mermaid's frightened expression as she shimmered and began to go dark before him.

"Robin?" he tried to gasp faintly, now entirely under the warming water, burbling and spitting; reaching for any bit of oxygen that could come his way, willing it to separate from the water.

Nicholas held him steady, panicking only slightly when he heard the fear in Percy’s voice as he breathed out Nicholas's childhood nickname with his last breath. He hadn't planned it this way; he had planned to let him go, to pick a new pet... but Percy was different... Percy was perfect in every way, and he couldn't let him go... he couldn't allow the darkness to creep in on him again. Percy could keep it at bay forever.

###  
__  
Sometime at the beginning of fifth year, Percy had found that Penelope Clearwater's skin had the most excellent quality of not being transparent; that her body was soft, but not ethereal; that her smile was genuine and fixed, and that he had to rely on reading her facial expressions rather than a swirling mass of color and sensation. He found that she was definitely a living female, rather than a member of the androgynous dead, and found that he indeed, was begining to appreciate these qualities very much.

_Nicholas found this beyond disturbing and made sure Penny found herself in the path of an angry basilisk and a confused red-headed girl._

_Distraught, Percy shared his sorrows with his Robin, and drowned his fear and confusion in the seething chaos disguised as calm in the eye of a storm._

_It was of little consequence that Miss Clearwater recovered. It was Percy's attention that he wished to recover, and worked twice as hard to retain. Eventually Penny moved on._  
  
###

As the dark began to truly claim him, Percy thought he caught sight of a pair of enormous ghostly spectacles. The water above his face parted slightly and he coughed out mucous and water and mentholatum bubbles, his lungs filling as far as possible with sweet air. The thin voices above him seemed to form a distant roar.

A high, tremulous female voice screamed with unexpected violence, “LET HIM GO, NICK! You can’t have him! He’s not yours to keep!”

A deeper, but just as insubstantial voice answered petulantly, “YES! HE IS!! He’s Mine! He wants to be mine! He’s been mine for seven years, and I won’t let him go and get old and imperfect and leave me here to molder alone!”

The high voice wavered, but remained strong. “Nicholas. Listen to me. I love the idea of a new dead boy, but you can’t have this one. It’s not his time to go!”

Nick? Nicholas? Nearly Headless Nick? Percy’s newly-oxygenated brain tried to reconcile the young, ghostly cavalier to his best friend and would-be murderer without success, and yet, it seemed to be the truth of the matter. But who had saved him? Who owned the high, reedy voice?

She lapsed into a softer, cajoling voice, a mixture of sweetness and rot. “Nick. Nicky, we don’t need more ghosts! Aren’t I good enough for you? Are you finally tired of my poor, ugly, useless self? Won’t he be just as boring dead as I am?”

The weight holding Percy down began to lighten and he was able to pull himself up a step, still spitting water and soap. He strained to make sense of the highly agitated swirls of energy in and around the tub, but he could barely keep his own head from swimming. He leaned over and continued vomiting bathwater into the tub, trying to remember the girl’s name… Marie… Maylin… Margaret…

“Myrtle.”

###  
  
In his sixth year, Percy should have been somewhat relaxed, studying for exams in a calm and rational manner; instead he was tearing his hair out, barely eating and sleeping, yet putting on the same, irritatingly smug Perfect Prefect Percy act every morning. One particularly difficult evening ended him finally in the Prefect’s Bath, where he had leaned over the marble edge of the deep, clear pool and wept silently as familiar intangible and scrubbed his back and legs.

“Percy, love; just relax.”

Percy exploded, shouting at the top of his lungs, “I CAN’T RELAX!! THIS IS THE REST OF MY LIFE!! I have to be the best; I have to do the best; I cannot let my guard down… or I’ll end up just like my father.”

The swirling mist formed around his body, stroking his face and chest and neck and groin, leaving small moist trails and exploring new and different sensations everywhere it touched. Percy groaned and sunk into its embrace.

“Yes, yes I believe you can relax…”

Moments after his exit from the bath sometime later, smiling again; he heard a woman—no a girl—whispering what he thought sounded like, “Be Careful”. He surveyed the empty hallway carefully and found nothing; coming to the conclusion that it had been a figment of his imagination.

“He’s Dangerous.”

###

Something, or the absence thereof woke Percy from a deep and dreamless sleep. As his eyes fluttered open, he caught sight of unfamiliar white bed hangings and sat bolt upright, trying to recall how he had gotten from the Prefect’s bath to this bed. There had been only water, and mist, and…

“Mr. Weasley? It’s Madame Pomfrey, dear. I just wanted to check in and see how you were feeling.”

Percy knew he was in the hospital ward mostly from his numerous trips to visit his brothers here; it was a new and strange sensation to be the one in the bed for once. He steeled himself for the raw pain in his throat, and said as loud as he dared, “Please do come in, Madame Pomfrey.”

His throat did not hurt one bit.

Madame Pomfrey pushed aside the white drape and stepped forward to stand at his bedside. She reached out and grasped his forearm, smiling warmly.

“Mister Weasley. You gave us all quite a scare. When Mr. Abercrombie found you pale and slumped in the tub, he thought you were dead. Created an awful racket, poor boy, with his carrying on. Had to be sedated.”

Percy stared at her numbly trying to understand what had occurred. “How… erm… how long…?”

“Oh, oh dear; you’ve been here for five days now. And a lucky thing, too; given how sick you were, you should never have attempted to bathe alone!”

“I… er, I…”

“No worries, dear. You’re healing rather nicely I’d say. You should be clear to return to your room tonight. And I’ve heard about how bright you are; I’d say you have precious little studying to actually make up. Now drink this up, and do not try and give me some cockamamie excuse to get out of bed before five pm tonight. There’s a good boy.”

###

Percy had three weeks to study before his N.E.W.T.S, and intended to make the most of them. He began with Potions, and stirred up a concoction of Lavender, White Sage, Rowan and Nettles and used it to soak the perimeter of his room for Protection against the spirit realm.

He charmed his bedposts to scream loudly when it spotted ectoplasm; he charmed his bed hangings with so many layers of Impervius, he could barely see them himself. He threw himself into his exam reviews, spirit-catcher in one hand thrust deep in his pocket, quill in the other.

Nicholas watched for an opportunity to explain, to apologize; to be forgiven and loved; for a chink in his armor, so to speak… but realized there was none to be had. He retreated to his corner of the Tower and did not interfere again for many years.

###

End.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I know, Nearly Headless Nick was petrified when Penny was petrified, but this bunny would not hear it. Clearly, a misrepresentation of facts exists somewhere, or else the dead have some way of influencing the living even while petrified… creepy old semi-headless guy that he is


End file.
